Page 13 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

It can’t be.

I must have an intense concussion and I’m hallucinating because there is no way Fyodor is touching me, kissing me.

As soon as it starts, it’s over and Fyodor steps away from me completely. My lungs fill with cool, crisp air as he leaves my orbit and weakness throbs through my knees. Clutching my phone to my chest, I can barely think past the lingering spot of warmth on the middle of my forehead.

“You did the right thing,” Fyodor says, sliding one hand into the pocket of his slacks. “And you are not to blame. Not for any of this.”

My lips part but words fail me. I’m like a broken record, stuck and unable to move past the unexpected affection.

“Now,” Fyodor says, his lips twitching as he drags one hand through his thick hair. “Let Daniil take care of you.”

It’s only when Fyodor steps to the side that I spot Daniil standing in the kitchen doorway, illuminated by the light from the hallway. Was he standing there, watching, the entire time? Even in the dark, his glasses glint when he tilts his head and my heart skips into my throat.

Take care of me how?

5

NAOMI

Heading back upstairs on unsteady legs, Daniil follows me like a shadow. Ever the man of few words, he doesn’t speak which gives me time to run through my thoughts on what the hell just happened in the kitchen.

Fyodor kissed me.

It was on the forehead but that doesn’t matter. He’s never once shown affection toward me before, not in that way. Does it mean something? No, surely not. He was probably just trying to comfort me after everything that happened. That’s the only thing that makes any kind of sense.

But the press of his lips lingers like a phantom against my forehead, and the warmth of his palm against my cheeks remains like an imprint.

He kissed me.

Right after I lied to him.

Half lied. I know Fyodor is Bratva, and Zasha is too, which means something is happening here that I can’t see. If we were all ordinary people, I wouldn’t have had any qualms about calling the police and getting Zasha the help he clearly needs. Fyodor wouldn’t have considered leaving Zasha to die in the snow, and I wouldn’t be worrying about keeping up this pretense. At the time, calling Fyodor seemed like the best move, but now there is doubt toying at the edge of my mind.

Is my mother’s long-laid plans for Fyodor really worth putting Zasha’s life at risk like this? Especially since I’m the one that hit him? My mother drilled into me from a young age how hateful and cruel these people are. Though if I’m honest with myself, in the six months I’ve been working here, I’ve seen nothing but cold kindness from Fyodor and those around him. They keep the Bratva world far away from Fyodor’s daughter and in a way, I admire that.

Part of me is certain that lying was the right call, and the quick thinking to lie about the car is all the proof I need. The rest of me is knotted up with guilt that churns the acid in my stomach and leaves a burning sensation at the base of my throat.

I’m torn.

And Fyodor kissed me.

He surely has his own reasons for helping Zasha but for the life of me, I can’t work out what they are. Why did he go from wanting to leave him to die in the snow, to having him here with the family doctor tending to him? Is it guilt or something else?

“Naomi?” Daniil’s rough tones pull me from my thoughts and my steps stumble. His hand shoots out and grasps lightly at my elbow to stop me from falling. He had been speaking all this time but I hadn’t been listening.

“Huh? Sorry, I was just—my head hurts so I keep getting distracted.”

“Do you need me to get Ester?” Despite his eyes being hidden behind those glasses, the subtle concern in his voice is clear.

“No. I just need some rest I think.”

Reaching my room, I expect Daniil to remain outside like every other guard who escorts me around the place, but he doesn’t. He follows me in and closes the door behind him.

“What are you doing?”

Daniil glances at me, then makes his way toward the door leading to my en suite. “What I was ordered to.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

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